


Mercurial Wrath

by Terrific_Lunacy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: American Revolution, Choking, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Cutting, Hamilton is game for anything, I repeat, Knives, M/M, No Sex, PunchingBag!Hamilton, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Whipping, anger issues, idk what this is, in which Hamilton is roasting Washington verbally and gets roasted physically in turn, pretty dark I guess, there's no sex in this, what is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:11:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7789717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrific_Lunacy/pseuds/Terrific_Lunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>History remembers Washington as an exceptionally calm and composed man, a true leader to inspire and unite his people. They worked hard to preserve that image, obscuring stories of his moodier youth. And though few ever knew, no one worked harder than Hamilton. For when Washington's volatile temper flared, it was Hamilton who bore his wrath willingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In case the tags did not give it away, I have no idea what this is. I'm blaming it on sleep deprivation.  
>  _Vaguely_ (very vaguely) inspired by [this post](http://foxnewsfuckfest.tumblr.com/post/148797721237/iniquiticity-foxnewsfuckfest-can-someone) (even though it's got like nothing to do with this) and the fact that according to legend, Washington only lost his temper and swore once in public and it was when he cussed out Lee.

 

It was a runner boy who woke him. A call from Colonel Laurens, to report to headquarters with the utmost urgency.

Hamilton had expected it, of course.

The day before they had attacked the rear guard of the British army at Monmouth. It should have been a triumph, but thanks to the complete failure of General Lee it had turned into a day-long massacre in sweltering heat. They had managed to fight their opponents to a standstill, but the countless unnecessary causalities left a sour taste for what should have been a victory.

They had fought until darkness and finally arrived back at camp completely exhausted. But now, after a good night’s sleep with the disastrous battle still fresh on everyone’s mind, Hamilton knew well what his duty would be for the day.

He made his way to the general’s hut, forgoing his breakfast. The change in atmosphere upon entering was palpable.

Laurens was already waiting for him, his face so anxious even his freckles appeared paler than usual. Two aides were occupying the tables, but seemed too distraught to be seriously working, all but cowering in their seats.

“How bad is it?” Hamilton asked Laurens as way of greeting.

“It, uh…”

There was a loud crack from the room above them that sounded suspiciously like a chair or a table splintering.

Hamilton glanced up at the ceiling with a small frown. “I see.”

“Lafayette’s with him. He was able to convince him to stay in the room but…” Laurens cringed visibly.

“I know.”

It wouldn’t be enough. Lafayette was Washington’s favorite, something akin to an adoptive son. It was the only reason he could be with him when the general was in that state, for he would never hurt Lafayette.

But it would also do nothing to calm him down. If anything, holding himself back from hurting Lafayette with the last remains of his control was counter-productive.

Hamilton went up the stairs decisively, passing several terrified staff members. He remained unfazed and knocked at the door to the study sharply.

The door opened a small crack, and a wary Lafayette ushered him inside.

“Your Excellency sir.” Hamilton greeted, snapping to attention.

A jug of wine crashed on the door right next to his head, some of the liquid sprinkling on his face. It was the only answer he got from the large man currently pacing the room.

“What a waste of a perfectly good wine, sir,” Hamilton remarked drily, wiping the droplets from his face.

Washington stopped in his pacing to fix him with a murderous glare. It was well-known that Washington could put men in their place with just a look. But this was far from the first time Hamilton had suffered his intense scrutiny and he remained unmoved.

“ _Petit, ne le mets pas en colère,_ ” Lafayette admonished him worriedly.

_“Je sais ce que je fais.”_

“English, Hamilton!” Washington snapped.

Because of course it would be directed at Hamilton.

Lafayette came to his defense immediately. “ _Mon General_ , it was me who-“

Hamilton held him back with his arm and took a step forward. “My apologies, your Excellency.”

Washington was still scowling at him. Hamilton turned to Lafayette and whispered, “You should go.”

“ _Non!_ I see no reason why I should not stay.”

Lesser men would have fled the first chance they got, but Lafayette seemed determined, always acting out of admirable nobility. He had been the first to see Hamilton’s bruises and since then had more than an inkling of what was happening.

The Marquis was a smart man. He could tell that Washington would never harm him and also that the general didn’t want to hurt anyone else in front of him.

However, that also meant Washington wouldn’t calm down. The longer their commander-in-chief was a slave to his wrath, the more it would hurt their war efforts.

“Lafayette,” Washington said, still focused on Hamilton.

“Don’t, _mon General, s’il vous plaît_! Let me stay!”

“Leave us.”

Lafayette visibly crumbled. There was no way he could disobey his general, but the only other option was abandoning Hamilton.

In the end it was more like Hamilton shoved him out of the room. He locked the door behind the Marquis for good measure.

They were alone now, much like the first time it had happened, on a particular cold winter evening. Soldiers had been freezing and starving to death. Lives lost not due to valiant battles, but elements they wouldn’t have needed to endure if they hadn’t enlisted.

Washington’s frustration had finally won over his control. The man had had a temper since early childhood, but he managed to reign it marvelously. The public knew him solely as a thoughtful and serene man, a fact crucial for their trust and respect, not to mention group morale.

The problem with Washington’s magnificent control was, that when it broke, it broke completely.

Only the closest of Washington’s staff knew about it.

On that evening they had been terrified, taken aback by the general’s violent mood. Lafayette had not been here yet, so they had called for Hamilton, whom they knew was respected by Washington for his relentless work and who held close council with the general.

They had assumed the combination of Hamilton’s silver tongue and Washington’s esteem for him would give him immunity.

They hadn’t been wrong exactly. They just hadn’t anticipated that Hamilton would deliberately antagonize him.

For Hamilton had seen what no one else had. Had realized that the general for all his greatness was human and flawed. He had also understood that this needed to stay behind closed doors and could under no circumstances be allowed to interfere with their work.

And so within seconds of coming face to face with Washington’s all-consuming brutal storm, he had deduced exactly what the general needed.

It was why no other soldier could take over Hamilton’s position. Laurens and the other aides would have gladly relieved him and taken turns in withstanding the general’s wrath, physical pain not something they were unaccustomed to. But if a punching bag was all Washington needed he could have simply hit the pillow.

No, he needed someone who actually dared to shout back. Someone who had the audacity to goad him further, aggravate him to the point of exhaustion. Someone who would keep the wrath focused on him, so that the general didn’t end up destroying the whole camp, or hurt an unsuspecting soldier.

So Hamilton had to provide an excuse for him to vent his anger.

Insubordination. It turned out Hamilton was very, very good at that.

“Well,” he said calmly. “You refused to give me command and promoted Lee instead.”

“Oh and I assume this is all my fault then?” the general said darkly, stepping up to him, his tall figure looming over Hamilton’s smaller frame.

The only one blaming themselves for their failures was Washington himself.

“Of course not, your Excellency.” Hamilton allowed himself a cheeky smirk. “I’m just saying _I_ would have never fucked up that badly.”

Washington’s backhand sent him sprawling to the ground with the sheer force of it, the whole side of his face burning.

Hamilton almost laughed. He had thought he’d gotten used to withstand the blows better by now.

He was about to get back to his feet but Washington nudged his shoulder with his boot and pushed him out of balance again.

“Your arrogance continues to amaze me, son.”

“Don’t call me son,” Hamilton responded automatically.

Washington laughed derisively. “Why ever not? You could certainly use an authoritative figure in your life. I understand a guiding hand was missing in your upbringing.”

Hamilton pressed his teeth together. His past remained a sore subject. Washington almost never mentioned it. He only ever stooped so low when it was really bad.

He managed to stand up and straightened his spine, narrowing his eyes at the general while being careful to keep his face otherwise blasé. “Providence dealt me a hard enough hand, sir. Life itself has shaped me.”

“And what a fine young man you’ve become,” Washington exclaimed. “Talking back to your superior officers. For every compliment I receive, I get two complaints for you, Hamilton. Everyone knows you think yourself the smartest, best at everything.”

He didn’t even blink. “I am.”

Washington’s hand darted out, curling over his throat and effectively cutting off his windpipe. Hamilton froze, a spike of real fear jolting through him.

Blows and kicks hurt, but they would heal. Strangulation was dangerous. It was so very easy to snap a neck in a moment’s decision, or keep the pressure for just a tad too long.

He knew struggling would only cause Washington to increase the pressure, so he made an effort to remain limp in his hold. Washington eyed him, daring him to fight back. When nothing happened he let out a frustrated huff and released him, not having found the satisfaction he needed.

Hamilton sucked in air too fast and started to cough.

“It does seem like that is the only effective way to shut you up.”

“Don’t you want to hear me scream?” Hamilton teased.

It was the wrong thing to say, much too soon. Washington recoiled and took several steps back towards the table.

Hamilton cursed internally. If the general’s damnable decency could just shut up for a second this would be over much quicker. There were instances where Washington became aware of what he was doing and, appalled by his own violence, shrank back.

Whatever barriers remained that prevented him from finally letting go needed to be dismantled carefully and hasty comments weren’t the way to do it.

Hamilton cleared his throat, feigning nonchalance. “The draw was not what we hoped for, but with careful maneuvering we can still spin it into a victory. A few choice words to put the battle in a more favorable light and the congress need never know just how much Lee’s failure has cost us. The troupe’s morale as well will be-“

“Hamilton, stop talking,” Washington groaned, leaning against the table and massaging his temples.

Though self-preservation advised against it, Hamilton approached the general and stood right in front of him. “ _Someone_ has to make decisions while you hole yourself up here in brooding destruction.”

This time Hamilton could clearly see Washington raising his hand, almost leisurely. He did nothing to evade the slap. He only lamented that it had to land on the same side of his already stinging face. He calmly turned his head back around to face the general and straightened himself.

“Stop it,” Washington hissed, but his eyes were clearly pleading for more.

As always, Hamilton obliged. “Frankly, sir, your temper tantrum is wasting everyone’s time.”

There was a flurry of motions as Washington caught his wrists and spun them around so Hamilton’s back slammed onto the table with the general hovering over him.

His hands were pinned down to either side of his head. The grip became fiercer on his left wrist in particular, twisting it to a point of throbbing pain. Hamilton sucked in pained breaths as it approached a point where he knew it was prone to snapping.

“Your Excellency, sir,” he pressed out. “Might I point out that that is my writing hand?”

“Oh I won’t break it,” Washington murmured. “Just a little strain so you can feel it for a few days, to remind you.”

He leaned down, bringing their faces closer. Hamilton knew the general was feeding off his pain and he did little to conceal it.

“Very considerate of you, your Excellency.”

Washington smiled at him with twisted fondness. “Your other hand however…”

He released his left wrist and grabbed his right hand with both of his, cradling his fingers. Hamilton let his still throbbing hand lay motionless where the general had discarded it. He could have probably slipped his right hand free as well, but he did not fight it.

“Well, nothing too drastic,” Washington continued pensively. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from fighting since you seem so eager.”

“Maybe if you came up with better strategies sir, we wouldn’t need to fight anymore.”

Hamilton could distantly hear the curt snap of his finger breaking, but by then he was already screaming.

The staff would hear. It had been his biggest concern at the beginning. But by now he knew Laurens and Lafayette would make sure no soldier would wander close to their hut. The staff that was inside was loyal and would keep their mouths shut.

His scream turned into soundless gasps as Washington continued to bend his little finger this way and that, eliciting sharp waves of agony that caused Hamilton to slam his head back on the table.

“Anything else?”

Hamilton licked his lips, the pain making it a bit difficult to focus. “Sir?”

“I was wondering if you had any more complaints?”

“Well, the food here is terrible-“

Another crack and Hamilton was screaming again.

“Do go on.”

Everyone else would have stopped. Everyone else wouldn’t have dared to goad him so long in the first place. But Hamilton was very good at keeping his mouth talking.

“The blankets are lousy and entirely inadequate for colder nights.”

Washington began to curl his fingers and Hamilton stopped breathing entirely.

“Didn’t you forget anything just there?”

Had he? Through the haze of pain, Hamilton tried to remember what he had said.

“Sir,” he added belatedly. “Entirely ina…inadequate for c-colder nights. Your Excellency, sir.”

Washington pressed down on the curled fingers and Hamilton had to bite his lips to withhold another ragged scream. But he was helpless to stop the small whimpers from escaping him.

“ _Now_ you’re trying to be quiet,” Washington remarked amused.

On some days the general _needed_ him to scream, on others he wanted silence. More often Washington himself didn’t know what he wanted. That was Hamilton’s job to find out.

The pressure on his hand eased and Hamilton exhaled shakily.

Washington wasn’t holding him anywhere but Hamilton made no move to get up. Two warm hands folded themselves over his throat and Hamilton opened his eyes to see Washington studying him intently.

It did not hurt. The pressure was minimal, but expertly applied, just enough to cut off his breathing. His hands twitched, but Washington made no move to restrain him further. He knew he didn’t need to.

He continued to just hold him there, unable to breathe, his lungs starting to scream. Hamilton tried to stay pliant, but like a hanging man who knew it was useless to fight, his body still eventually started to jerk.

He focused on keeping his hands from reaching up, but his body was writhing uselessly under Washington’s hold and he screwed his eyes shut.

The general growled in disapproval. “Look at me.”

Hamilton did and at the same time lost control, his hands darting to Washington’s muscular arms, tugging at them. His legs were kicking now, his panic increasing, he needed _air_ -

And just like that the hands let him go, leaving him to cough and gulp for air, squirming on the table. An ink pot had tumbled over, spilling its contents halfway across the table, ink soaking into the sleeve of his uniform.

“Permission to speak freely?” Hamilton managed to say, his voice raw and making him cough again.

“Do you ever not?”

“This is not effective unless you wish to kill me, sir.”

“Who says I don’t?”

Hamilton bravely ignored that statement. He had to believe his work was too valuable for the general to lose him and that somewhere in his sub-consciousness that knowledge would keep him from actually killing Hamilton.

“Insubordination is usually dealt with lashes.”

“Are you asking to be whipped?”

“Punishments allow one to move past the offense. If you’d indulge, your Excellency.”

“Ah,” the general hummed. “But, my Little Lion, I’m afraid the number of lashes for your disrespect would be far too high.”

Hamilton gulped, coughed again. “I shall bear it with dignity.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Washington chuckled.

He reached down to his hips, and for a moment Hamilton thought he had succeeded. Instead the general pulled his sword from his sheath and Hamilton could feel himself starting to sweat.

Knives were bad news. They lacked the physical exertion of blows that eventually drained Washington’s anger. Plus the cuts were hellish to heal.

“Well look at that, Colonel, I think I just saw you flinch. Did I find something that _you_ respect?”

He placed the tip of the sword at Hamilton’s collarbone, making to cut his clothes.

Hamilton quickly spoke up before that. “Your Excellency, we are low on cloth and funds as it is.”

He carefully sat up, the general allowing it warily.

“Allow me.”  He began to shed his coat, wincing as the sleeve brushed his wounded hand. He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, a daunting task as he could only use one hand. Washington made no move to assist him, apparently content to simply watch him struggle.

Eventually Hamilton managed to shrug out of his shirt and discarded it on the floor next to his coat.

He lay back down, aware of how fast his heart was beating, but ignoring it.

Washington’s broad hand came to rest on his stomach, which was heaving with his rapid breaths, despite his best attempts to breathe calmly. He was thin enough that his frenzied heart could be seen beating against his chest and Washington mustered it interested.

“It beats so frantically, yet you seem so calm.”

Hamilton gave him a roguish smile. “It’s called self-control, sir. You might have heard of it?”

Washington’s hand balled into a fist and punched down with considerable force that made Hamilton taste bile. He instinctively tried to curl into a ball, but the sword had been placed just under his chin and forced him to lie still.

“How many did I slay with it I wonder?” Washington asked contemplatively, the cold steel caressing Hamilton’s skin.

Hamilton’s mind flashed with all the instances he had seen that sword in action himself and shuddered involuntarily.

The hand returned to his stomach, feeling his breathing quicken.

“Are you afraid?” Washington asked, placing the sword vertically to his chest, the tip of it standing just above his frantic heart.

“It does not matter.”

Even if he had been absolutely terrified, he would still return time and time again, as was his duty.

“That’s not what I asked.” Washington increased the pressure minimally, enough for the sharp edge to cut skin. “Are you afraid?”

He gripped the handle harder, the muscles in his arm straining, ready for action. And for a moment Hamilton could actually see it, the sword plunging down for real, his blood gushing as it pierced his heart.

His eyes fluttered close. “Yes, I am, sir, I-…”

“Yet you’re brave enough to remain.” Washington tilted his head. “Or stupid enough.”

Hamilton’s brow furrowed. “I’m not stupid.”

“No,” Washington laughed shortly.  “You’re a know-it-all.”

The sword moved once across his chest, a thin line of blood following its path. Hamilton tried not to squirm under the faint but insistent burn.

“You always talk,” the general continued, slicing another line. “Convinced you have all the answers.” And another. “Tell me then, how to win this war.” And another. “Tell me what to do.”

Washington knew exactly how deep he could cut to not leave permanent scars. Hamilton tried not to think about where he learnt it.

“At least you work hard,” Washington mused. “Everyone else just seems to keep dying. Why do they all die? Will you die and leave me too?” He leaned in and the next cut was notably deeper than the previous ones.

Hamilton was concentrating on not screaming mindlessly. “No, sir.”

“No?”

“Never, sir.”

“Yes, you are special aren’t you? Always there when needed, so eager to please.”

Washington shifted slightly and Hamilton could feel an unmistakable hardness brushing against his thigh. He stilled in surprise. That was new. He had been shirtless before, even without his breeches once, but the general had never shown any interest.

If he’d known he could have _fucked_ the frustration out of Washington, their encounters could have been a lot more pleasant for both of them.

Washington shifted again, before freezing on his own, apparently only just now noticing his state and being equally surprised by it.

Neither of them knew how to proceed from there.

Deciding he might as well take his chances, Hamilton slowly spread his legs.

Washington withdrew immediately, even taking a step away from him.

“Get down from my table,” he ordered, his voice rougher than usual. “And put your shirt back on.”

Well.

Hamilton decided not to take it personally. He didn’t pick up his shirt though, as nothing quite angered Washington as much as a blatant refusal to follow his orders.

“I _said_ put your shirt back on.”

Hamilton carefully straightened, ignoring his twinging chest as much as possible. “It will only get soaked in blood, sir.”

“I don’t care.”

Hamilton snorted. “ _I_ do.”

He expected a hit for that one, instead Washington more like flung him through the room. Colliding with the hard wooden floor unceremoniously, Hamilton took a moment to gather his bearings. He distantly admired the blood from his cuts that was now also smeared on the floor. He would need to come up with a plan so that at least it wouldn’t be Lafayette who had to clean it up.

He could hear Washington fumbling with his belt and smiled inwardly. It seemed they had finally arrived at his breaking point.

He pushed himself up on his knees and twisted to face the general. “Sir-“

He never got to finish, as Washington brought the belt down on him harshly. It didn’t hurt _too_ bad. Washington wasn’t using the end with the buckle and the belt wasn’t a real whip after all, almost never cracking skin. But the streaks still burned and the red strips would remain for several days.

Hamilton tentatively brought his left arm up to protect his face, not wanting to further injure his right hand, but also fearing he might end up hurting his writing hand as well.

The lashes came slowly, but steadily and Hamilton could tell Washington was getting more and more worked up.

“Sir,” he tried again, fighting to remain upright on his knees under the onslaught. “This would be a lot easier if I were to brace myself against the wall, or the table perhaps? Or maybe you’d prefer me over your lap now.”

Washington was not pleased by his taunt, judging by the particular vicious lash that followed his words. “How dare you.”

“Or have you come to like me on my knees like this?”

He sat on his knees, which brought him almost exactly to eye-level with Washington’s crotch and glanced up at him impishly. He could do that too. People seemed to have a fixation with his mouth. Or rather, making him shut up.

Washington’s free hand grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged at it sharply, forcing his head to bend back.

“This is your fault.”

“If you say so, sir, I assume it is.”

Washington’s grip on his hair became just a bit stronger, and for a second Hamilton thought he would actually push him forward.

But Washington seemed to change his mind in the last moment and pulled sharply, sending him sprawling to the floor instead.

He lifted the belt again and Hamilton resigned himself to his fate. Maybe the general simply liked thrashing him more than sex.

The lashes came a lot faster this time and Hamilton knew the general wouldn’t need any more goading at this point. Talking was useless now, so he curled himself into a ball and just let it happen.

There was no sign of Washington’s anger draining, there never was. One moment the blows kept raining down on him, the next they were gone completely.

Hamilton didn’t dare to move at first, knowing the general needed time to compose himself. His body was burning from the sharp blows, but by now the ache was familiar to him, lashing being the most common vent for Washington’s anger.

The room was eerily quiet now and no sounds could be heard from downstairs either. After a while, Hamilton uncurled enough to glance at his chest. The majority of the cuts had stopped bleeding, but he was covered in dried blood. He assumed his arms and back must have been full with red streaks and his right hand was throbbing. All in all, nothing he couldn’t tolerate.

He sat up slowly, deciding against standing up and got more comfortable on the floor for now.

Washington was leaning on the table, the belt discarded on the floor, his gaze fixed on a point on the ground somewhere to Hamilton’s left.

“Better, sir?” Hamilton asked sincerely.

He could see Washington’s face tighten, the lips already pressed in a grim line.

“How bad is it?” He didn’t meet Hamilton’s eyes.

The truth was, anger was only covering up the issue. A defense mechanism that at least for a short period overrode the anguish underneath.

Hamilton almost preferred the brutality beforehand. He could help Washington with his anger, but no matter how much he wished it, he was powerless to take his torment.

“Nothing I can’t handle, your Excellency.”

“I broke your _hand_.”

“Two fingers, sir,” Hamilton corrected him gently. “They will heal.”

Washington finally looked at him. He looked exhausted and guilty and Hamilton vowed to win this war if only to see the general smile genuinely for once.

Washington sank down next to him on the floor.

“And you’re bleeding.”

“It’s just dried blood,” Hamilton murmured, embarrassed to have forced the general to sit on the floor.

The general stood up again, but shortly returned with a piece of cloth and a jug of water that had survived his outbreak. He poured some over the cloth and reached out to Hamilton.

“I can just wash in the river, sir,” Hamilton protested.

“Let me.”

And Hamilton let him, because he knew Washington needed this too, to know Hamilton wasn’t scared of him. Not truly. Not when it mattered.

He did not apologize anymore. He had tried that once, probably the only time Hamilton had gotten mad at _him_ for a change. They had both come to the understanding that it was simultaneously useless and undesired.

After cleaning him up as good as possible, he tied the cloth around Hamilton’s hand in a makeshift bandage, to provide some stability.

Washington let out a weary sigh. “Everyone must think me a monster.”

“I assure you, your Excellency,” Hamilton said quickly, “Lafayette and the rest of your staff continue to hold you in their highest regard.”

“And what about you, Hamilton?”

Hamilton frowned at him. “You need to ask?”

“I know there was some initial respect, but it’s clear I must have fallen far from your good graces by now.”

“Sir”, Hamilton said, truly annoyed now, “I don’t get thrashed by just anyone.”

Washington chuckled weakly. “Of course not, Colonel.”

Before Hamilton could react, he had brought the wrapped hand to his lips and kissed it once. Hamilton’s mouth felt suddenly very dry.

“How will I ever repay you?” Washington whispered.

Hamilton cleared his throat. “About that command…”

The general was shaking with silent laughter. “You are incorrigible, son.”

Hamilton for once, did not feel the need to correct him.

Washington helped him stand up and together they managed to make Hamilton somewhat presentable again.

“Would that be all, your Excellency?” Hamilton asked, as if they had merely finished discussing letters to congress.

Washington suddenly looked hesitant. “The next time… If there has to be one…”

“Of course sir, I’m at your service.”

“No! No, Hamilton. I need you to-…” He broke off, started again uncomfortably. “If it becomes…sexual... Stop me at all cost.”

Ah. It must have weighted heavier on his mind than Hamilton had assumed.

He kept his tone casual. “You know I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Whatever you need, sir.”

But Washington shook his head vigorously. “I am not myself during...  And with Martha… It is hard enough to look at you after what I’m putting you through. I could never forgive myself if…”

The general looked at him beseechingly. “Promise me. You see me at my worst, Hamilton. Don’t let me sink any lower, I beg you.”

Hamilton swallowed. “What if I can’t stop you?”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You can talk anyone out of anything. In any situation.”

Hamilton tilted his head. “Or into it.”

Washington snorted. “Hamilton please.”

“I shall find a way to divert you,” he nodded finally.

It was just one more burden, one more responsibility on his shoulders. If the general thought him capable of carrying it, Hamilton would.

“Thank you,” Washington said, relieved.

By the time noon arrived, the general could be seen marching across the camp, as calm and composed as ever, and Hamilton had drafted three possible letters to congress recounting their battle.

And if, after the war, Hamilton’s lasting scars had not been procured on the battlefield, he still considered them marks for duty well served.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I just traumatized myself. This is not what I usually write _at all_ you guys. The next thing I'll write will be the fluffiest fluff that has ever fluffed.  
>  ~~I can't believe they didn't have sex~~  
>  ~~I'm sorry for existing~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo here we are, 9 months later and y'all made sure I couldn't forget about this story ;)  
> Warnings:  
> \- for some inexplicable reason this is even longer than the first  
> \- Hamilton is, like, way more into this than before  
> \- if possible, there are even more sexual undertones BUT still no sex haha, enjoy the frustration  
> \- Jefferson  
> \- I tried to make this a bit different than the last one but *shrugs* who knows..
> 
> Let the adventures of Wrathington and Hamilscream continue!

 

 

Hamilton was scurrying through the corridors of federal hall with his arms full of freshly written treatises and his head full with things that still needed to be done.

He was hoping to run into Henry Knox so they could have a quick discussion about the budget of a potential national coast guard.

However, as if summoned by his mere thoughts of a proper military defense, Thomas Jefferson rounded the corner instead.

Jefferson’s eyes landed on him and his expression soured. He always seemed to take personal offense at Hamilton’s presence. It was something that Hamilton had grappled with at the beginning, but nowadays filled him with gleeful pride.

The Virginian came to a stop in front of him and Hamilton had to strain his neck to look up at him.

“Washington wants to see you,” Jefferson drawled without greeting.

Hamilton frowned. There was no meeting scheduled and both Washington and himself were extremely busy, making such impromptu summons very rare.

Jefferson must have noticed his confusion. “Is there a problem, Hamilton?”

“None at all, thank you Jefferson.”

He attempted to walk past him, but Jefferson flicked his cane up to stop him at the chest.

“I’ll be blunt,” Jefferson began, slow and deliberate.

Hamilton arched an eyebrow in question.

Jefferson turned his head slightly to glance down at him. “Are you fucking the president?”

Hamilton couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that escaped him. “My, my, Jefferson. Have Adams’ mad ramblings finally gotten to you?”

Jefferson remained completely unaffected. “Answer the question Hamilton.”

Hamilton cocked is head in thought, losing the smile. Jefferson usually hurled all sorts of insults and accusations at him during their debates, but this straightforward seriousness was unusual.

“No I am not,” he answered honestly, though he could see Jefferson narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “And even if I were, what would you do about it?”

Jefferson leaned down, expression intent. “I would tell you to do a better job.”

Hamilton reared back affronted. “Excuse me?”

“Judging by the surly mood he’s been in for the past few weeks, your performance must be inadequate.”

Hamilton was reminded why Jefferson was his biggest adversary - he was one of the only people who could actually render him speechless.

Jefferson didn’t give him time to come up with a response and sauntered past him. Hamilton shook his head in disbelief and made his way to the president’s office.

It was true that Washington’s mood had worsened as of late. With Hamilton trying to push his debt plan through congress and Jefferson opposing him at every turn, the dream of a completely unified country had shattered.

The partisan bickering put Washington in a tight spot, leaving him almost unable to do much at all without risking the anger of half the country. It was clearly wearing him down, though Hamilton had to confess that he himself had been too busy to pay much attention to Washington’s state of mind. To have Jefferson shove it in his face like that was beyond infuriating.

He knocked on the door and waited for Washington’s muffled response before entering.

The president sat at his massive table, the surface littered with documents.

“Hamilton,” he sighed exasperated, “I don’t have time for you to try and convince me of your plan again. Save it for the cabinet.”

Hamilton blinked at him. “Uh, you wanted to see me, sir?”

“I’m not aware of any meetings, no,” the president said curtly. Hamilton must have caught him in a bad mood.

“But Jefferson said…” he trailed off as realization dawned on him. “My apologies your Excellency, it appears our dear secretary of state is resorting to pranks now.”

Washington stood up, clearly annoyed. “If you two could just set aside your differences enough to actually work together instead of wasting time on mindless shenanigans maybe our government wouldn’t be crumbling apart from within!”

Hamilton straightened, the harsh tone evoking his old military habit to stand at attention. “Again, I’m very sorry. Rest assured that Jefferson will pay for his behavior.”

Washington snapped. “You are not listening, I’m telling you to let it go!”

He yanked at Hamilton’s arm for emphasis, the abrupt action causing him to drop his papers, the sheets spilling to the floor around them.

Hamilton’s eyes widened involuntarily, the harsh press of Washington’s fingers around his biceps reminding him all too vividly of a time they had both carefully forgotten.

The tense silence stretching between them was only disrupted by Washington’s heavy breathing and the sound of the documents fluttering to the ground.

Suddenly the president’s deteriorating mood was not a mystery anymore, but something painfully familiar. Hamilton had never stopped working for him, but after the war Washington’s temper had settled down and Hamilton had assumed it would stay that way without the stress.

Looking into Washington’s eyes now, wilder than usual and the pupils blown, he realized that the crushing pressure of responsibility had never left.

Hamilton cleared his throat, fully prepared to slip back into his old role. “Sir-“

“Forgive me, I…” Washington released him and took a hasty step back. “You should go.”

They were clearly not on the same page there. The more Hamilton watched him, the more signs of his flaring temper he spotted. Washington’s whole being was coiled, wound up by a sliver of self-restraint but more than ready to snap.

There was no way Hamilton could heed the president’s order. Washington’s composure would break in some unpredictable, disastrous moment if left ignored. It was his job to make sure it would only ever happen in a controlled situation, behind closed doors.

But Washington was evidently trying to pretend like nothing was wrong, otherwise he would have called for Hamilton days ago. Somehow he first needed to admit to himself that he wanted it.

Hamilton raised his chin defiantly. “Let it go? Easy for you to say, sir. I’ve just been standing in the corridor for everyone to see and hear while Jefferson accused me of sodomy. Apparently he doesn’t need to hide behind newspapers anymore, he’s now allowed to openly say it to my face.”

Washington scowled, probably not happy that Hamilton refused to leave. “Mind your language.”

“I should mind my language? Remain quiet while he insults my honor and integrity? Because of him all of congress is dragging me through the mud!”

“You are paranoid and oversensitive,” Washington said dismissively, heading back to his desk, Hamilton on his heels.

“I am not. During our last cabinet meeting you explicitly ordered me to stay quiet while our opposition shredded my debt plan. You can’t expect me to just take it.”

“I thought that’s what you’re good at,” Washington sneered.

Hamilton deliberately stayed silent so Washington’s statement could take effect.

Washington suddenly blanched, looking distraught. “I-…”

“You enjoy this,” Hamilton said, crossing his arms in front of him. “Instead of beating me to relieve stress, you watch me getting insulted and abused.”

Washington shook his head, but he looked uncertain. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“With all due respect, sir, but your denial is risking the whole nation.”

Washington leaned heavily on the table, his face a mixture of barely contained wrath and exhaustion.

“We’re not at war anymore, Hamilton.”

“Aren’t we? It’s merely a different kind of fighting. And it clearly puts you under the same strain. It makes sense that you should find relief in the same way as-“

“A president can’t beat his treasury secretary senseless!”

“But you want to,” Hamilton pointed out drily.

“I have it under control,” Washington pressed out.

“Jefferson is clearly noticing something, which means others will as well. If your opponents so much as smell a weakness they will destroy everything we fought for.”

Washington glared at him, which was a step in the right direction as far as Hamilton was concerned. “Stop intentionally antagonizing me Hamilton, I know your tricks.”

Hamilton took another step forward, trying to find the right words. “We both know there is another way. Something that won’t leave visible marks.”

He did not feel as if he were breaking his promise to Washington in offering this now. Although the president was extremely irritable, his rationality had yet to leave him.

“No.”

“Sir-“

“I said _no_ , Hamilton!”

His broad hand grabbed Hamilton’s chin roughly, as if he couldn’t decide whether to try and cover up his mouth or strangle him. His breathing was ragged. “I cannot have you walk out of here with bruises all over your skin. And I cannot have you walk out of here _limping_.”

“But-“

“Get. Out.”

Washington was physically pushing him out through the door, shoving him so hard that he lost his balance and fell to the floor.

Washington towered over him. “You don’t always get to have the final word, son,” he said, then proceeded to shut the door.

Hamilton stared up at the closed door, seething. Years of service and Washington still didn’t acknowledge his explicit wishes _not to call him that_.

Words were power. _His_ power. And Alexander Hamilton always had the last word.

If the stubborn old man wanted to use bruises as an excuse to hide himself away from his own nature then Hamilton simply had to strip that away too. That was his job after all.

Washington thought bruises would raise questions? Hamilton would give him answers.

Clenching his teeth, he pushed himself up and quickly made his way to his least favorite place in the building. It was time for drastic measures.

_Thomas Jefferson. Secretary of State._

He didn’t bother to knock.

“Hamilton,” Jefferson drawled, spinning around in his _stupid, useless, ridiculous_ swivel chair.

Hamilton took a deep breath, forcing himself to unclench his teeth. Goddamn _southerners_. “I need your help.”

“Poor little Hamilton,” Jefferson gloated. “You must have run out of people to turn to. For the last time, I will not vote for-“

Hamilton rolled his eyes. “This has nothing to do with the debt plan.”

“Oh god,” Jefferson groaned. “What is it now?”

For a split second, Hamilton hesitated. There were countless of ways Jefferson could use this against him. But even if he disliked the man, Hamilton could acknowledge that, in his own way, Jefferson was doing what he thought was best for their country. In fact, Hamilton had early on come to the conclusion that Jefferson was just as committed to this cause as he was. And they both knew that Washington was absolutely crucial for its success.

“I need someone who strives to preserve this nation at all costs, even at the risk of his own personal reputation. Do you still count yourself amongst those?” Hamilton paused before playing his last card to get Jefferson’s attention. “Sir?”

Jefferson leaned back in his chair, suspicious but evidently intrigued. “I’m listening.”

“I need you to hit me on the congress floor tomorrow.”

“...What.”

 

* * *

 

The air had grown hot and stuffy by the time their meeting had passed the third hour.

Hamilton’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, his mouth dry after all the talking. He felt a bead of sweat running down his back and itched to loosen his suffocating clothes. Instead he squared his shoulders and concentrated on his opponent.

“As I’ve proposed many times before, it is essential that we establish international credit.  A first step would be to incur a national debt. The greater the debt, the greater the credit.”

“What Mr. Hamilton is trying to say,” interrupted Jefferson leisurely, addressing the congressmen in front of them, “is that he would like to push money from the south to the north.”

“What I’m saying,” Hamilton emphasized, trying to talk over the rising murmurs that followed Jefferson’s statement, “is that congress should adopt all the debt incurred by the individual states during the revolution. The idea being that if the states own congress money, then other nations will feel more inclined to lend it to us.”

“If the states are indebted to a central authority, it increases the power of the central government.”

“Finally you’re catching on Mr. Jefferson!” Hamilton exclaimed mockingly. “The greater the responsibility of the central government, the greater the authority.”

“Well ladies and gentlemen,” Jefferson laughed drily. “I’m afraid our revolution was in vain, since Mr. Hamilton’s plan would hold a Virginian farmer captive by a New York speculator, who in turn is controlled by a British banker!”

“The prosperity of any nation lies chiefly in trade,” Hamilton argued.

Jefferson dramatically clutched his heart. “Idiotic me! And here I thought we fought the revolution so we wouldn’t have to trade away our pride any longer. I see you hold no such reservations, _sir_.”

“At least _I_ fought,” Hamilton spat. “While _you_ were getting intimately acquainted with French wine and spend your time writing poetry.”

“Secretary Hamilton.” Washington’s warning voice somehow managed to cut through the increasing commotion despite its low tone. There was a shimmer of sweat on his forehead as well, the muggy air doing nothing to calm his temper and it showed.

Usually, this would be their signal to take a break and compose themselves before their debate could turn truly ugly.

A look passed between the two. Jefferson seemed nervous, but Hamilton continued to stare at him intently, until he saw the other’s eyes narrow in resolve. This time, they would not stop.

“How dare you,” Jefferson hissed and Hamilton was sure there wasn’t much fake venom required to supply the dripping hate. “I was an ambassador for our cause.”

Hamilton huffed and crossed his arms in front of him. “All I know is that every good man in this country stood beside me and fought our oppressors at the risk of their own lives. I did not see _you_ amongst them.”

Unlike most men, Jefferson was one to go completely still when angered. “I care little for your definition of good and bad.”

“Your morality is not what I’m questioning. I’m asking if you even are a man.”

“Alexander!” Washington intoned, rising from his seat.

Hamilton ignored him and focused on Jefferson. “I suppose I would have to ask your wife sometimes. Oh! My bad. _Sally_ would know more, no?”

Despite his initial reservations, Jefferson certainly wasn’t pulling his punches.

The first one sent Hamilton sprawling to the ground and Jefferson was on him in less than a second. Instinct told Hamilton to protect his face, but he intentionally remained limp. Jefferson’s second blow hurt even more and his third went right into Hamilton’s eye. The subsequent tears blurred his vision until he could only vaguely make out the reactions of everyone else.

In the mayhem that followed, people who were trying to get further away from the violence were hindering the path of people who wanted to interfere. The only ones close enough to react immediately were Knox, Madison and Washington.

Hamilton had known Knox wouldn’t throw himself in the midst of their fight and he suspected Jefferson had warned Madison beforehand not to interfere immediately. He hadn’t been sure about Washington’s reaction, but saw now that the president stood rooted to the spot, not moving an inch.

This gave Jefferson ample time to rain blows down on Hamilton. As instructed beforehand, he wasn’t solely focusing on his face, but rather landed some nasty hits on his ribs and arms as well.

Eventually Madison did get up, since anything else would have been suspicious. Jefferson let himself be pulled away, though not before getting a few kicks in as well.

The resulting silence was only interrupted by Jefferson’s heavy breathing and Hamilton’s sputtering coughs.

Everyone else was frozen, not daring to move, while their eyes slowly glanced in Washington’s direction, waiting.

Washington’s face was unreadable. “Out.”

The single word unleashed another mad scramble, as everyone hastily tried to comply.

“And you-” He towered over Jefferson, who shrank back warily. While he had seen Washington in bad moods as a cabinet member, he certainly had never experienced him so furious.

Jefferson shot Hamilton an uneasy look, before his eyes flickered back to Washington.

The president caught the exchange and followed Jefferson’s gaze to Hamilton. Washington stilled, glancing between them and Hamilton could see the exact moment when realization dawned on his face.

“Take a walk,” Washington finally spat.

Jefferson didn’t need to be told twice and hurriedly left the hall. Meanwhile Hamilton was pulling himself up, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor in the process, but eventually managing to stand up straight and composed.

He did not flinch under Washington’s glare. If anything he felt gleeful. “Your Excellency,” he began, “I appear to have found some bruises.”

A pause. Then-

“You insolent, arrogant-…” Washington hissed and approached him. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I know Jefferson would never sink so low without you dragging him down. What did you promise him in return? Who else are you manipulating behind my back? Am I supposed to believe Adams in his claim that we are all just your puppets?”

He grabbed Hamilton by the collar of his shirt and almost lifted him up completely, leaving him to balance precariously on his tiptoes.

“Are you manipulating _me_?” he growled. “Is it me losing my temper or is it you taking pleasure in this?”

“Oh sir,” Hamilton breathed out softly. “Did you never realize it is both?”

Washington released him forcefully, but he caught his footing quickly enough not to fall over.

“My office. Now.”

“No one will come in here for a while,” Hamilton pointed out.

Before he could react, Washington clapped both of his ears simultaneously, the percussion leaving him dazed and disoriented. The president was saying something but Hamilton couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears, nor could he concentrate enough to care.

Eventually Washington must have noticed and simply grasped his neck, dragging him along. Hamilton was left to stumble awkwardly after him, Washington still muttering under his breath and obviously not bothering to check if anyone might see them.

Luckily the corridor was empty. He was still regaining his bearing and would have a hard time explaining their current appearance in his stunned state.

The ringing in his ears abated by the time Washington’s office was in sight and the world steadied itself again.

“Disregarding my orders, going behind my back-“ Washington was venting on even in the absence of a reaction from him. “Rowdy, without any proper manners. What will people say? My secretaries, deciding the fate of our nation through _fistfights_ -”

“To be fair, I did not hit him back,” Hamilton interrupted.

Washington scowled down at him. “As if I don’t already need to justify your appointment at every turn. They all told me you would be nothing but trouble. Some bastard, whoreson-“

“Funny, that’s exactly what Jefferson always calls me,” Hamilton snickered. “Oh! Maybe you Virginians really are all birds of a feather.”

Washington seemed bereft of language in his anger and instead pushed him into the office, closing the doors behind them.

Maybe it was from the hours spent debating Jefferson, but this time Hamilton felt particularly confrontational.

“You should be happy, we finally worked together. Does that not please you, sir?”

“Brace yourself against the wall,” Washington ordered curtly, ignoring him.

Washington’s voice was low now, rougher around the edges in the way it only got when he slipped into the dark abyss that lurked hidden within him. Hamilton shuddered involuntarily. It had been years since he’d last been at Washington’s mercy and his mind was scrambling for memories of how to navigate the danger.

Yet Washington remained surprisingly still in his wrath. Hamilton decided that this wouldn’t do.

Washington wanted to punish him neatly. Methodical and tidy like a court-martial. There was no promise of destruction in his order. No real violence. No mess. It was not enough. He was still controlled, not burning hot yet.

Washington scowled at his idleness. “ _Now_ , Hamilton!”

“My apologies your Excellency,” Hamilton said amicably. “It is just as you said. How could a bastard like me hope to understand the meaning of respect? Obeying is simply not in my blood.”

“I ought to teach you properly then,” Washington growled and stepped closer.

Hamilton remained where he was, though his heartbeat accelerated. He smiled at Washington. “Are you sure you’re adequate for that challenge?”

“Challenge?” Washington echoed, grabbing him by the lapels again. “It was easy enough in previous years.”

Even though Hamilton knew he should feel scared, his head was pleasantly light. The thrill of his earlier debate was still thrumming in him, his body bursting with restless energy.

“Ah but sir, you see,” Hamilton said, “In the past, I never fought back.”

“What are y-“

With adrenaline crashing over him in waves, Hamilton hit Washington squarely in the jaw. There was not much force behind it. But the mere _idea_ of such an action stunned Washington enough that he let him go.

A laugh escaped Hamilton, for the sheer audacity of his own feat.

Washington was upon him in a heartbeat.

There was nothing neat about this. Not even the semblance of gentlemanly conduct shown in battle. There was only the heat of mindless, unrestrained violence as they scuffled on the floor. And for the first time, Hamilton fought back with all his might.

It was no real contest. His scrawny frame was nothing compared to Washington. It was a fantastic, liberating feeling to fight with his full strength, knowing the other would easily block it. He was exhausting himself just by preventing Washington from pinning him down completely.

But even as they wrestled on the floor, Hamilton’s senses stayed tuned to Washington, heedless of his own body’s aches. He could _feel_ the energy returning to the bigger man’s body with every punch they traded. It was as if Hamilton was ripping his façade away with his bare hands.

Gone was the statue-like, neutral president. In his stead a war commander returned, riled up and ferocious.

His blows became harder, his scratches deeper, his grasps bone-shattering. Hamilton reveled in it.

Everyone else treated him like he could fracture into tiny pieces at any moment. His sweet Eliza with her gentleness. Angelica urging him to take a break. Congress pretending to worry over his self-inflicted workload. Everyone telling him to _slow down_.

Not Washington.

When Washington hit him he did so with full force. When he tore and scratched and kicked at him he did so with the full confidence that Hamilton could take it. When he gave him an order he expected immaculate results within hours.

He was the only one that pushed him to go even faster, do better, work harder, take _more_. It was exhilarating.

He was not sure how long he managed to hold his own against Washington. No one was there to check and time was useless for them. The result however, was as predicted.

Washington eventually managed to restrain him completely, with his wrists pinned down and his legs locked underneath the body above him.

By that point, Hamilton felt almost delirious from the rush of their struggle. Distantly he wondered how he had managed to keep a cool head during the revolution. It was clear that Washington’s power had a much more direct influence on him nowadays.

“And now what?” Washington whispered, looking down at him with the sort of curious irritation a cat might show for a mouse.

One of his knees was pressing hard against Hamilton’s ribcage, allowing him to breathe only shallowly. Hamilton couldn’t even start to decipher where he had been hurt in their skirmish, his senses too preoccupied with Washington’s body pressed flushed against him.

Hamilton gathered his strength to rear up one more time, but Washington’s hold over him remained iron.

“Now, I’m yours,” Hamilton gasped, staring into Washington’s dark eyes hovering so close to his.

Washington snarled and suddenly brought his head even lower. Hamilton could fleetingly feel the scrapping of teeth on his jugular before Washington bit down hard.

Hamilton whimpered at the foreign sensation and his hips buckled up involuntarily. His groin slid along Washington’s leg and he let out a breathless moan. Now that he started he could not help but rut against the body above him.

Washington released his throat to scoff at him. “You are obscene.”

“Your Excellency.” Hamilton tried to keep himself from whining. “You might have found the most agonizing of tortures.”

Washington tilted his head. “But here you have no hope of release.”

The denial was so absolute that for a moment Hamilton didn’t know what to do with it.

“Please-“

Washington chuckled. “All these years. And _this_ is the thing you finally beg for?”

Hamilton bit his lip, hoping the pain would ground him. Pain was familiar to him. He grew up with it, built a tolerance against it. But he had always been weak to pleasure.

He was not sure how they got here, their roles reversed with Hamilton being the one bereft of control.

Washington’s breath ghosted over his face, almost gentle. “I shall take exquisite pleasure in denying you.”

Hamilton moaned again and Washington’s smile broadened. “You deserve to know how it feels to be driven mad. To observe as your mind’s sway over your body slips away.”

“Your affliction is not my fault,” Hamilton protested shakily.

“Everything is your fault.”

“Oh.” For some inexplicable reason, this made Hamilton flush hotter than anything before. “Yes, sir.”

“Every death, every unrest, every discontent. They say it rests on my shoulders, but it is you. How do you live with it?”

Washington’s nails dug into his wrists now, five throbbing points each. His words washed over Hamilton and they seemed to displace every other thought in his mind.

 “Don’t you think you deserve to hurt?”

“Yes yes yes-“

Washington scratched along the delicate flesh of his inner wrist, deep enough to draw blood and Hamilton released a high-pitched scream.

“Quiet,” Washington ordered, in a tone that Hamilton knew meant _louder_.

Then, in a single graceful movement, Washington let go of him entirely and stood up. The unexpected, sudden absence of his presence left Hamilton disoriented. He was left sprawled on the ground, breathless and disheveled.

Washington stared down at him. “You poor, wretched thing. Is there hope for you yet?”

“You can help me, sir,” Hamilton panted.

Washington tsked. “Maybe I have better things to do.” He went over to sit down at his table, as if getting ready to work.

With a groan, Hamilton pulled himself upright, his body aching from blows he had barely registered. He saw Washington watching him keenly, apparently unable to pretend disinterest.

Hamilton struggled to his feet and closed the distance between them. He boldly took another step forward, bringing himself between Washington and the table. Even while sitting down, Washington was only marginally lower than Hamilton.

“Please,” Hamilton begged quietly, “Absolve me.”

For a moment Washington stopped breathing. Then Washington’s broad hand grabbed his neck and twisted him around until Hamilton found himself face down on the desk, bent over the massive table.

The vice grip on his neck didn’t loosen while his shirt was torn from his back. There was no need to care for clothes in these times.

He could hear Washington loosening his belt and the sound produced a vivid picture in his head. This was not the old, well-worn belt he had come to know so intimately during the revolution. This was a shiny, polished piece of quality leather worthy of a president.

His eyes fell on a sheet of paper in front of him, covered in a familiar scrawl.

_…vague defense of implied powers should not deflect from the truth. The constitution does not grant the federal government authority to establish a central bank. Furthermore, the chance for avarice and corruption…_

Goddamn you, Jefferson.

He was not aware of any change himself, but Washington must have noticed his mind straying, for he shook him by the neck, demanding his attention. “With me, Hamilton.”

He closed his eyes. “Always, your Excellency.”

Hamilton remembered Washington’s first strike and the strangled cry that tore itself from his throat in response. After that, there was a blank nothing.

 

When his awareness returned, he found himself sitting on the floor yet again.

A wet rag was passed along his back, the material felt too coarse on his raw skin. He flinched and tried to squirm away from it, but a strong arm kept him gently in place.

“Hush now,” Washington murmured. “I’ve got you.”

“S-“ Hamilton cleared his throat. It felt dry. “Sir?”

“You should not have antagonized me so strongly,” Washington chided him softly. “You know it is dangerous.”

“My apologies, sir, I seem to have lost control of the situation. I must be out of practice.”

“It is not a skill you’re supposed to have.” Washington sighed. “I am unfit for the presidency.”

Hamilton twisted slightly in his hold, so he could look at Washington. “You are exactly where our people need you to be, sir.”

Washington smiled tiredly. “Adams cannot even _begin_ to understand the influence you hold over me.”

He held the rag to his face and wiped away a small dribble of blood from the corner of his mouth that Hamilton hadn’t even noticed.

“There. I shall procure another shirt for you. I’ll be back shortly.”

With that he got up and left Hamilton alone in his office.

He brought a shaking hand to his face. He felt weak and his back was on fire. Compared to what Washington had regularly put him through during the revolution, this was one of the worse outcomes. It had not happened often that he couldn’t remember all of it.

He should have noticed the signs sooner. He had allowed the storm of Washington’s temper to expand against its confines, like a steam pipe without a valve.

The door opened again, but it was not Washington who entered.

“My god,” Jefferson drawled, taking in Hamilton’s crumbled form next to the president’s desk.

“Mr. Jefferson,” Hamilton greeted. “You are getting better and better at spying.”

He could feel Jefferson warily eying him up and down. He could only imagine what a picture he must have made, with his torn shirt exposing his back.

Jefferson gathered himself and stepped closer, arrogant sneer returning. “I was the one to keep everyone away. You should thank me on your knees.”

“I am on my knees,” Hamilton pointed out exhausted.

Jefferson paused. “Yes… Not as satisfying as I thought it would be.”

Hamilton must have hit his head pretty hard, for the next thing he knew Jefferson was extending a hand. “Come on then. Madison is arranging a carriage for us.”

Hamilton looked at him quizzically.

Jefferson arched an eyebrow. “Surely you didn’t plan to go home to your wife like that?”

“What’s it to you?”

Jefferson shrugged. “We all do our part in keeping this nation safe.”

Hamilton chuckled. “Was that a compliment?”

“Washington did look remarkably calmer, I’ll give you that.”

With a last long look at him, Hamilton took his hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.

If he was any less exhausted he would have felt embarrassed at how much of his weight had to be supported by the other. As it was, he simply let Jefferson drape his coat over his shoulders and lead him out into the corridor.

“And we did want to meet to discuss your debt plan,” Jefferson continued, settling back into his usual haughty tone. “I’m looking forward to point out all the things that are wrong with it, but maybe we can find a compromise.”

Hamilton tuned him out, but couldn’t help a small smile. He wondered if Washington had known his cruel temper would one day help making his secretaries work together.

He would have to tease him about it, next time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took big parts of Hamilton's debate with Jefferson from HBO's John Adams. If you haven't watched the series, I highly recommend it. If you're only interested in the debate, here's a [clip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=notJuFGXQ9w&index=3&list=LLsxls8r-0LU47Lp-WkWPzRA)
> 
>  ~~I'm also complete Jamilton trash did you notice~~  
>  Anyways, thanks for egging me on with your previous comments :). I hope you liked this chapter as well!


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